Point of Hopes (61 page)

“
Master Caiazzo is concerned about
some matters,” Denizard said bluntly, and Rathe saw the landame’s
smile falter. She recovered almost at once, but he guessed the
others had seen as well.

“
But where are my manners?”
Denizard went on. “Maseigne, let me present Philip Eslingen, late
lieutenant in the royal regiment, and now part of the household.
Istre b’Estorr, who handles the northern trade for Master Caiazzo,
and Nicolas Rathe, caravan-master.”

“
Gentlemen.” De Mailhac inclined
her head a calculated few inches.

“
Lieutenant Eslingen speaks for
Caiazzo as I do,” Denizard said. “You’ll forgive my bringing so
large a party, but one of Hanselin’s messengers was attacked while
returning from Mailhac, so we had we felt, reasonable fear of
bandits in the hills.”

“
If that’s the case, I think you
were quite wise,” de Mailhac said. “We’ll certainly have no trouble
housing your people, or your animals. I’m extremely disturbed to
hear about the messengers, though. I hope they’re well.”

“
We have hopes,” Denizard said
deliberately vague.

“
I’m pleased to hear it. Come in,
please. It’s a vile night, I’m sorry you had to travel in such
weather. And I know very well that Mailhac doesn’t show to
advantage in conditions like this. I hope you told your companions
it’s not normally this forbidding.”

She kept up a constant stream of polite conversation
as she led them into the great hall. A generous fire was burning in
the massive fireplace, and Rathe moved closer to it, feeling the
steam beginning to rise from his wet clothes. They were all
thoroughly soaked, and de Mailhac gave orders for baths to be
drawn. “I’ll let you take the chill off—I’ve had my people lay
fires in your rooms for you, and I’ve had wine sent up. It can only
help, on a night like this. When you’re ready, Magist Denizard, I
hope you will all join me for dinner. We don’t often have guests;
I’m looking forward to a very pleasant evening.”

“
As are we, and thanks for your
hospitality, maseigne. Hanselin told me to apologize for coming on
you without warning, but as I’m sure you understand, the business
of the gold has become urgent. Most urgent,” Denizard amended with
a smile that, as yet, had no teeth in it, but instead the promise
of steel.

De Mailhac lifted her head slightly. “Of course. I
do understand that his—business—is somewhat dependent on this
estate. But we can discuss this at dinner, or after.”

They had been given rooms suited to their status,
Rathe saw, with some amusement. Denizard’s was the largest,
Eslingen’s somewhat smaller, and he himself had been tucked into a
much smaller room with b’Estorr. There was barely room for the tub
between the hearth and the single large bed and the necromancer
laughed softly.

“
I’d forgotten how they treat
merchants here. It makes me almost homesick.”

Rathe grunted, stripping out of his still-damp
clothes. Their luggage, such as it was, was already waiting, and he
reached for his own bag. De Mailhac’s servants were regrettably
efficient; he hoped that her guard were less so, and then shook
that thought away. “Do you want the bath first, or shall I?”

“
Go ahead.”

Once bathed and dressed they made their way to
Denizard’s room. It was indeed much larger, and the paneling was
carved and painted with scenes from some local battle. A long
mirror stood in one corner—obviously a new addition to the house,
Rathe thought, and surveyed his reflection dubiously. He had
brought his best coat, but it still sat badly on him, and the plain
wool was creased from the days in the pack. Still, he thought,
glancing at the others for reassurance, no one looked much
better—Denizard’s skirts were crumpled beneath the concealing
magist’s robe, and b’Estorr’s stock had definitely seen better
days. Then there was a soft knock at the door and Eslingen came in,
elegant in a dark blue coat that set off his pale skin and jet hair
to perfection. His linen looked at first glance as though it had
been freshly ironed and the skirts of his coat were arranged to
hide the worst of the wrinkles. Rathe shook his head impressed in
spite of himself. Eslingen was going to go head to head with the
nobility itself, and just might come out on top. No one speaks a
language so precisely as one who isn’t born to it.

“
So,” Denizard said. She gave her
reflection a final critical glance, and adjusted her lace-edged
cap. “Are we ready?”

“
We’d better be,” Rathe said. “How
does she seem to you?”

“
Nervous,” Denizard said with a
small shake of her head. “Not terribly, but there’s an undercurrent
there. She’s not best pleased to see us. That could just be because
she knows Hanse is extremely irked, but I don’t think so. She was a
lot sharper last year—this spring, for that matter. You saw how she
tried to come the aristocrat with that comment about his
business?”

Rathe nodded.

“
Normally she pulls that off a lot
more convincingly. She’s lacking a good deal of her usual ginger,”
Denizard said grimly, “and that makes me nervous.” She took a
breath. “Shall we go down?”

“
Oh, let’s,” Eslingen murmured,
bowing Denizard through the door.

A waiting servant led them from their rooms through
the main hall to a smaller room that had been converted for dining.
A fire burned in the hearth there, small but throwing enough heat
to take the worst of the damp from the air, and de Mailhac stood by
the hearth, the flames striking highlights from her skirt. She had
changed her dress, but the fabric was still the same flattering
shade of green, bodice and sleeves embroidered with scrolls of
gold. The long table was set for six, Rathe saw, and the light from
a dozen thick candles struck slivers of light from silver and
glass. It was all a great deal less barbaric than he had expected
from an Ajanine noble, he thought. Obviously, de Mailhac furnished
her household from Chenedolle proper.

“
Now I can bid you a proper welcome
to Mailhac,” de Mailhac said. “We may not be in Astreiant, but—I
think—we set a table that won’t disgrace us.” She took a breath,
though her smile did not dim. “There is another guest here at
Mailhac whom you’ll meet shortly, a magist like yourself,
Aicelin—Yvonou Timenard. Perhaps you know him? Though I doubt he’s
of your college.”

Denizard shook her head. “I’ve not traveled too far
from Astreiant, I’m afraid, except on Hanselin’s business. No, I
don’t know him, but I do look forward to meeting a colleague.”

Rathe glanced at b’Estorr, but the necromancer’s
face was blank. Not a name he knew either, Rathe guessed and looked
back at de Mailhac.

The door opened then, and a man came in, a magist’s
dark robe hanging open over a respectable belly. He looked to be
past his middle years, his thinning hair almost white, but his
round face was unwrinkled, showed nothing but an almost childlike
embarrassment.

“
Maseigne, I understood you have
other guests. Please do forgive my appalling tardiness—I hope
you’ve not held dinner on my account.” He trundled over to de
Mailhac, looking a little like a child’s clockwork toy, and came to
a stop, looking expectantly up at her. She smiled faintly at
him—she bettered his height by a good hand’s breadth—and extended a
hand to introduce him to the others.

“
Yvonou, may I present Aicelin
Denizard—also a magist, and an important member of Master Caiazzo’s
household. Aicelin, Yvonou Timenard who has been good enough to
join my household.”

“
Delighted to meet you,” Timenard
exclaimed and clasped Denizard’s hand with enthusiasm. Watching
him, Rathe felt his heart sink. They had come so far, risked so
much on what was really a chain of coincidence and guesses, and
then to find this, that de Mailhac’s mysterious magist was this
child’s toy of a man.… He bit back his fears. Looks could easily
deceive, he knew that well enough, but even so it was hard to
believe that Timenard was capable of anything as complicated as the
theft of the children.

De Mailhac introduced the others then, and Timenard
offered his hand to Eslingen as well, pronouncing himself pleased
to meet another representative of their mutual acquaintance. He was
perfectly polite to the other two, but his greeting was less
effusive, marking their relative status to a nicety.

“
Well, this is pleasant, maseigne
and I have been our only company for the past several weeks, it’s
always nice to have new faces and fresh conversation—and from the
capital, too, that’s an unlooked for treat.”

The door opened again, and de Mailhac nodded with
what looked like relief to the servant who stood there. “Dinner is
ready,” she said. “Please, be seated.”

They took their places, de Mailhac at the head of
the table, Denizard at the foot, and a woman servant began to pour
the wine. Timenard was seated at de Mailhac’s right hand, Rathe
saw, the position corresponding to Eslingen’s, and took his own
place opposite the magist.

“
And how is the capital?” Timenard
asked. “As exciting as always? We’re so isolated here, we long for
tales of the court, don’t we, maseigne?”

“
It’s pleasant to have a change,”
de Mailhac agreed. Her hand on her wine glass was white-knuckled,
Rathe observed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d shatter the stem and
that would draw attention, certainly unwanted. Timenard’s eyes
flicked sideways then, and Rathe thought he saw the ghost of a
frown cross his round features. De Mailhac seemed to see it as
well, and relaxed her grip on the glass. She took a hasty swallow,
and set it down again, laying her hand flat on the table top. She
wore no rings, Rathe saw, no jewelry at all, and that seemed
odd.

“
We’re hardly at court, any of us,”
Denizard demurred, and Rathe thought he caught a gleam in
Timenard’s eye. Not triumph, he thought, but more satisfaction, as
though the older magist had scored a point. No, of course none of
them would have any dealings with the court, they were all of
common birth, no better than merchant class, and rank seemed to
matter here, to Timenard and to de Mailhac. It would matter to de
Mailhac, seeing as it was a merchant-venturer who had gotten the
better of her enough to secure the rights to her estate and the
gold produced on it. But Timenard? There were astrologers at court,
certainly, but aside from that, magists were not in great number in
the queen’s court. Was he ambitious? Or was he ambitious on behalf
of one of the potential candidates, and grateful that none of their
guests were likely to know much about the tangles of the
succession? Or was it something else altogether?

“
No, of course not,” Timenard
replied, sounding absurdly sad. “Not working for a trader, as you
all do. But surely there is at least gossip you can share? Who’s in
favor, who isn’t, who’s brought a new color into favor?”

Denizard and b’Estorr exchanged looks. “I’m afraid
we’ve been too busy this summer to pay much attention to anything
beyond the great gossip. Everyone talks of the star-change, of
course.”

“
And the missing children,” Rathe
said. He watched Timenard as he spoke, and thought he saw a ghost
of something, a shrewd intelligence, maybe, flash in the pale
eyes.

“
Missing children?” de Mailhac
repeated, her voice flat. “We’ve heard nothing of that.”

“
But we have, maseigne,” Timenard
said. “You remember, the man who came earlier this month, he
mentioned something of the sort.” He looked at Rathe, smiling.
“Children of the common folk, he said, who had disappeared, or
possibly run away. I’m afraid we didn’t pay much attention, under
the circumstances.”

“
And why would you?” Rathe said
softly, fighting to control his anger. “The problem seems to be
confined to Astreiant.”

“
Sad for the city, but yes,”
Timenard agreed.

Denizard shrugged, forced a smiled. “For anything
else, I’m afraid we’ve been working too hard to take much notice.
I’m sorry to be such an unentertaining guest, I feel as though I’m
not earning my keep.”

“
Nothing of the sort,” de Mailhac
interposed quickly, before Timenard could say anything. The old
magist looked absurdly disappointed, and his bottom lip, Rathe
would have wagered, trembled as though he were about to cry. What
in the name of all the gods are we dealing with here? he thought.
Or did I get it all wrong? Is this simply a commercial deal gone
wrong, nothing to do with the children? He pushed the thought down.
The stories of the wagons passing by Chaix, of the three riders
with a child moving fast, the whole oddity of this evening—it all
had to mean something.

De Mailhac turned to Denizard and Eslingen. “And how
is Hanselin? We never get to see him here, only when I travel to
the court at Astreiant.”

“
He’s well enough, maseigne,
though, as I said, troubled by the silence and more importantly,
the lack of any deliveries from Mailhac,” Denizard said. Her voice
was pleasant enough, but there were teeth behind the words. “He is
not a man to cross, maseigne, I do beg you to believe that. And the
two of you have an agreement, an oath of honor between you, that he
should regret deeply were it to be broken.” The magist lifted a
shoulder in an elegant shrug.

De Mailhac glanced almost involuntarily at Timenard
and the round man leaned forward.

“
Oh, dear, yes, that is fully
understood and very distressing it must be for Master Caiazzo to
find his plans delayed. But….” Timenard spread his hands. “He must
understand the mines here at Mailhac are virtually played out. I
have been doing everything in my power to help maseigne eke out
what we can, but it’s barely enough to support the estate itself,
let alone such grand merchant plans as Caiazzo must have in
train.”